Open at the Close
by romioneship
Summary: What happened after the Battle of Hogwarts? Life goes on; yet the new life was impossible until the old wounds were dressed and bandaged.
1. The wounds

**Hi, **

**This is my first attempt at writing a long one. In fact, this is my second ever story. I wanted to show Hermione's POV for the majority, while still mentioning the views from the other characters. This will mostly be a story about how she and the other two tidied things up after the Battle of Hogwarts in order to begin a new life. **

**So, without further ado, enjoy! Reviews are always welcome. **

She stood across the Great Hall, staring at his family. They surrounded Fred's body, flooding his serene face with hot tears. The death of the once laughing Fred Weasley weighed upon her throat, muting all sounds, and upon her eyes, refusing exit for tears. For half an hour, she simply stood there, numbly watching as one by one they kissed his forehead, held his hand and caressed his tranquil complexion; save Mrs Weasley and George, who for the entire time stared emptily into his closed eyes. The look on George's face sent chills over her; she'd never seen such a look of desperation, utter loss and death. Fred was the other part of him, and now that part lay silently on the floor, unmoving.

When Ron's eyes reached across the Hall and found hers, it was as though her legs finally found reason to move. She closed the distance between them as she found her way through the rare empty spots on the floor, her eyes barely leaving his. The disbelief, frustration, desperation and guilt seemed to flow from his tear stricken eyes into the tiredly beating mass inside her chest. Silently, she took his hands in hers and led him away from the death, the injured and the mourning. As they left the Hall, she felt a hand grab hers from the right, and was not at all surprised when she saw Harry's sullen complexion. Together, the trio crossed the grass and arrived at Hagrid's place.

Although it had never really been clean or tidy, the cottage now looked beyond disastrous. The door was several feet from its rightful place, the cauldron inside the cottage blasted into pieces and Buckbeak's food scattered everywhere on the ground. Knowing that it was impossible to enter the house, the three of them contented themselves with sitting on his doorstep, watching the rising sun. For an hour, they sat in silence, staring as the sun rose, oblivious to the bloodshed that had claimed countless lives.

Hermione could feel the growing weight of Harry's shoulders – as dawn approached, it seemed his responsibilities flooded back to him. As if feeling her gaze, he turned and returned a look of grief and reluctance. "I… I guess I have to return to the castle now. I can't leave Professor McGonagall alone in dealing with the questions and demands," said Harry, his voice now croaked from the long silence.

"Harry, we'll come with you." replied Hermione, ready to stand.

"No. You stay with Ron, he needs you right now. I.. I'll find a way to cope. Just make sure he's okay first… what with Fred and…" At this point, Harry could not continue. He held her hand for a while, and gave it squeeze as he came to his feet and walked towards the castle.

Hermione watched as he left, her heart like lead as she stared at his forlorn, leaving figure. She turned back to Ron, who now seemed to have calmed from his flooding emotions, his eyes replaced by emptiness. Shifting in her seat so that her side now pressed against his, she wrapped her arm around his shoulder and placed his head on her shoulder. She knew he would not speak until he was ready to, so she waited in silence, listening to the distant sound of life.

"It… it could've… no, it _should've_ been me," came Ron's voice after another half an hour, overwhelmed with regret and guilt. He shrank away from Hermione and buried his face in his hands. "It should've been me."

"Ronald Weasley. I've always known that you're a bit out of your mind, but now you've truly gone bonkers," replied Hermione's stern voice. Surprised by this reprimanding tone, he looked up from his despair. Tears crowded in Hermione's eyes, but she wiped it away. She looked almost… angry.

"Hermione… he was right next to me. If it'd been a few inches it could've been me…"

"Oh and that makes all the difference in the world doesn't it? You would rather have died and let Fred take all the guilt for the rest of his life! Ron, how can you say what you've just said? You…" At this, Hermione could no longer stop her tears. Ron, at a complete loss for words, simply stared. "Ron, did you see your mother's look when she saw that you were all alright?" she whispered, tears still flowing freely from her eyes.

"No, I…"

"Fred's death," something arrested her throat, but she refused to relinquish to it. "… Fred's death couldn't have been prevented. He… There was no way in the world anyone could have prevented that blast… not even Dumbledore himself."

Ron reached over and placed her head on his shoulder whilst he wrapped his arm around her form and placed his cheek against her forehead. Both sat in silence once more, their tears and sobs filling the air around them.

He broke the silence fifteen minutes later: "I just.. I don't know how I can go back in there and face them.. face them all. What if.. what if.."

"Ron, all that Mrs Weasley wants right now is for you to be there, safely next to her. She's already lost… lost one child. Don't let her lose another to guilt." After several moments of contemplation, Ron nodded. They silently rose under the early sunlight and walked back to the castle, fingers entwined, as if to draw courage from each other.


	2. The brutal truth

**A/N: I had already finished writing the second chapter when I started writing, so I thought to just upload it together. Hope you like it! There's no Romione contact in this chapter, since it's really about Snape and the new respect that everyone has for him. I've always believed Snape to be a good man, even when I read that he killed Dumbledore. I never believed him to be a bad person. When he died in DH, I felt that someone must do him justice, after all his sacrifices. So, here it is. **

She watched as Ron was drawn into Mrs Weasley's arms in an embrace that seemed to squeeze all the blood into his face. But he didn't seem to mind. Smiling, yet feeling slightly alone, she turned and walked into the corridors in which many memories of laughter, bickering and tears lingered.

She walked, not fully aware where she was heading, her mind wandering back to the day she and the other new Gryffindors had followed Percy's instructions towards the common room. She smiled to herself, remembering how she had believed herself to be so in control of her world back then. Innocence was not something she had ever consciously contemplated; yet now, she realised that she had lost her innocence quite as quickly as Harry. Having encountered tasks that were meant for mature, powerful wizards as a first-year and enduring through fears and knowledge that were meant not for the light-hearted, she indeed had lost her innocence rather early. Wondering how it would've been like had she not met Harry and Ron and gone through the countless – and often rule-breaking – adventures, she climbed the first flight of stairs she saw. Even after the severe damage done to the castle, the stairs had not forgotten to move.

Hermione, now glancing about her and smiling to the portraits who bowed to her in appreciation for her efforts in defeating Voldemort, did not seem surprised to find the staircase had stopped in front of the corridor that led up to Dumbledore's – well, McGonagall's now – office. Accepting the fate bestowed upon her by the stairs, she marched forward, hoping she might be of some help to Harry and Professor McGonagall.

Upon reaching the door, she could hear Harry's voice, low but steady. She knocked and it was Mr Weasley. He smiled weakly at her and allowed her entrance. The Order was here, save Mrs Weasley, Lupin and Tonks. They sat in a circle, deeply engrossed in Harry's story; some wore expressions of guilt, some with disbelief, but all with surprise.

"… Dum..Dumbledore knew he had only a year or so left, so he asked Snape to.. to kill him, instead of letting Malfoy execute Voldemort's orders."

The room with heavy with silence. Bill exhaled loudly as he leant back into his chair, astounded by the truth of the situation. Kingsley's brow knitted even tighter together, as he contemplated the mental torment that Snape must have endured all this time. George, his eyes empty from the loss of his twin, wore a faint look of surprise. "What was the sorting hat thinking, not sorting him into Gryffindor..?" Hermione had rather hoped it was George, having finally returned to his old self; but Bill was the one who commented.

Harry, as though sensing Hermione's presence, turned and smiled faintly at her, seemingly relieved that she was here to give him strength. For strength was certainly what he needed right now, to tell the truth. The brutal truth.

"That day, when George lost his ear, Snape was trying to protect Professor Lupin from a Death Eater. The curse missed and hit George instead. While he was here in Hogwarts, he tried to keep the Carrows in check; Neville - " he nodded at Neville, who looked pale and distraught," - will tell you more about that later. Professor Snape… he… I've just been so wrong about him. When he killed Dumbledore, it was as if he didn't care. He had no sign of remorse – he didn't even flinch!" Harry began to mumble, more to himself than anyone else. At this, Hermione conjured a chair beside him and took a seat. She placed her hand on his shoulder and smiled encouragingly when she saw his guilt radiating from his eyes.

Professor McGonagall was the first to recover from the stunned silence. "I think it would be safe for me to say, on behalf of all of us, that Snape deserves a proper, respectable funeral, given all he has done for us. For Dumbledore. For you, Mr Potter." Harry could only nod. His hatred for Snape had subsided when he broke away from the Pensieve. Snape had not forgotten his task even in his dying breath.

It could not be said that Harry had come to like him, for childhood scars did not heal easily; but profound respect he certainly held for the man who had loved his mother for so long. It was almost ironic that he once believed Snape to be perfectly incapable of harbouring emotions or feelings. And the loyalty. Harry had always believed that none other could be as loyal to Dumbledore as Ron, Hermione and himself – well, once again, Snape proved him wrong. It was as though he was beginning to truly understand and _know_ this man, yet he lay silently in the Shrieking Shack, never to wake again. Yes, Professor McGonagall was right. Snape deserved a proper funeral, and recognition for the sacrifices he had made.

Never truly believing that Snape could be as evil as Harry portrayed him to be, Hermione, nonetheless, still sat in shock. Harry had told her and Ron earlier about the story of Snape, though Ron had only nodded absent-mindedly to the story. Snape was in love with Lily all this time… even when she had gone and married someone he hated, he still loved her; even when she had died, he guarded what was most precious to her. After all these years, he still found solace in traces of her – Harry, the letter bearing her signature and love, the photos of her. She couldn't help but let her thoughts wander to the red-headed boy – most certainly crushed by his mother's embrace by now – and wondering if he would ever love her like that. True, she wasn't even certain if he did, indeed, love her right now; but she wondered nonetheless.

"I'll plan it." Hermione found herself saying. Every person in the room turned to watch her, and she cowered slightly from the intensity of their gazes. Checking herself, she sat up straighter; "I'll plan it. Does he have any immediate, or any, family?"

"Not that I've heard of. He was the only child and he never married," replied Professor McGonagall. No parents, no siblings, no wife, no children. As Hermione looked round the room, everyone had their head bowed in guilt – they, at least, had each other; Snape had been isolated, hated, friendless. Harry looked at Hermione, looking determined about something. "Hermione, I'm planning it with you. He saved me countless times. It's the least I could do." She could only nod.

Professor McGonagall was watching him, a tinge of pride and understanding behind her eyes.


	3. Mourning

**This is a bit short. Everyone was still in depression mode, since it was only a week after the Battle. In the seventh book, Harry often felt a bit alone when Ron and Hermione were having their moments. I decided to create a little one like that, but ultimately, I wanted to keep the friendship between them strong. After all, they were all friends before Ron and Hermione began crushing on each other. So, enjoy. Reviews are most welcome. :)**

Drawing up the guest list was no feat. Not that she didn't know who to invite (though that was, in itself, an extremely difficult task, given the foul impression most had of Snape), but that she was reminded constantly of the time when she drew up guest lists with her mother for her seventh birthday. She remembered how she had insisted on a bushy-haired theme, just to make sure no one could tease her about her uncontrollable hair. The smiles of her parents now floated before her, only to vanish when she tried hard to see them properly.

Her parents. They were now safely tucked away in Australia, oblivious to the fact that they had a daughter back in England, who suffered what no person of her age should have endured. A blow hit her heart as the fear of not being to be reunited with her parents struck her. No, she shook her head, focus at the task at hand. She could think about her parents later. She'd waited for more than a year; it couldn't hurt to wait one more month.

She knew that it would not do to just invite anyone to the funeral – Snape's story had to be explained first. Hermione flinched at the idea of having to talk to Skeeter again. Perhaps there was someone else she could talk to about this? Surely, there must be someone.

Hermione was sitting in Ron's bedroom in The Burrow, drawing up the list of possible guests, whilst Harry wrote down a list of possible locations in which to hold the funeral. Ron lay in his bed, snoring lightly in the afternoon sun. Funeral matters aside, Hermione was extremely worried about Ron, and this concern was mirrored in Harry's eyes. When Ron was awake, he stared only emptily at them, occasionally a cloud of despair and guilt would crowd in his eyes; when he was asleep, his brows knitted tightly together, the trace of a tear lingering in the corner of his eye.

"Blimey; I'm starving. I'm getting a snack; Hermione, you want some? I'll bring it up here." said Harry, throwing the parchment off his lap and stretching as he stood.

"No, I'll be alright. Thanks. I think I've got pretty much everyone in this list. When you come up we'll cross out the bad ones," replied Hermione, as she ran her eyes over the list on her parchment. Ron began to stir after Harry had gone downstairs. "Er-my-nee?"

Smiling at the way he always said her name whenever he woke up, she turned to look at him: "Afternoon, sleepyhead."

"What time is it?"

"Just a bit past three. You fell asleep after lunch."

"Blimey… why didn't you wake me up?"

"I thought.. a bit of sleep might do you good."

"Oh." Past his initial protest, Ron withdrew back to his sullen self, eyes masked by emptiness.

Seeing this, Hermione decided that the guest list could wait. She reached over and took his hand in hers. "Want to talk about it? You know it's impossible for you to carry on like this for the rest of your life. Think of how… how Fred would feel, seeing you like this." She was unsure whether she had gone too far, but she stood her ground. She would not take back what she said. It was the truth. He simply stared at the hand that held his, as if her knuckles were a new wonder to behold. Much to her surprise, Ron raised her hand and pressed it against his lips. She knew her cheeks ought to flame at this; but they didn't. Instead, tears came to her eyes. She felt heat flowing down her hand as she saw that he, too, was shedding his share of tears.

It had been a week since the Battle of Hogwarts (as they call it now, the Daily Prophet) and Ron had not shed a tear since they were at Hagrid's cottage. Not until now. Now, positioned in the strangest way possible, Ron cried into Hermione's hands, whilst her own tears strained her cheeks. Together, they mourned for Fred, for all who had died, for the part of themselves that was lost with the War. A click sounded as the door opened and closed again.

Harry, coming into the room and seeing Ron holding Hermione's hand, knew that it was best for him to leave them alone. He closed the door again, collapsed against the wall and slid down until he sat on the floor, his back against the wall. Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Mad-eye, Snape, Dumbledore, Sirius, Cedric, his father, his mother. He closed his eyes as the ghost of their faces flew before him, tears finally breaking free. Previously, he'd not allowed himself to break loose like this – he somehow felt that by letting the free reign of his tears he would disappoint others. He was the Chosen One, a sort of a symbol; and symbols didn't cry. Symbols stayed strong and remained standing. Symbols didn't break down. But seeing his friends in tears had done it.

Hermione had heard the door click. She looked towards the door and knew that it was their best friend. Ron had heard too. Standing up, their hands firmly clasped in each other's, they walked outside to find their friend in tearful misery. They sat down around him and together, the three held each other's hands and mourned.


	4. Boys would always be boys

**This one's a bit longer. Thank Merlin Ron's finally back to himself - somewhat. And this is where the discussion about Snape's funeral takes place. I hope you like it! Please leave reviews if you can; they're very much appreciated, since it's my first time writing a long one. :) Enjoy!**

"Fred's funeral is this Saturday," said Mr Weasley wearily over the breakfast table. A sob broke free from Mrs Weasley and she spilled a little milk on the table.

George was out in the garden again, talking to the gnomes. It seemed strange to them, why he would talk to the gnomes; but they contented themselves with the explanation that that was where Fred and he spent most of their childhoods. Ginny trembled a little as Mr Weasley made that announcement. Ron simply slowed down his meal, as if eating it slower could delay the funeral.

Bill and Fleur lived in the Shell Cottage now and Charlie returned to Romania to continue his work on dragons. Mrs Weasley had sent them messages describing the date and place of the funeral; they had all replied within a day, saying that they would come the day before. It was to happen at The Burrow, the funeral, and they had invited all his friends and relatives; "Fred always liked the crowd," mumbled George when Mrs Weasley was deciding on the guest list.

Not able to stand his mother sobbing anymore, Ron exchanged looks with Harry and Hermione, and the three returned to Ron's bedroom. "How's Snape's funeral coming along?" It was the first time Ron had asked them about it.

"Well, we've got the guest list. It's basically just the Order, Hogwarts staff and some of his students. I mean, he didn't really have any friends," replied Hermione as she took out her parchment again.

"Can you imagine? Living like he did? Without any friends, with everyone suspicious of him, and then having to kill his own master? Blimey, I know I couldn't have stood it." Ron mused. Harry had described to him once more about Snape's life, when Ron had become more accepting of Fred's death and was willing to listen. Hermione was thankful for this change in Ron's demeanour; she was actually afraid that he would remain sullen and depressed for the rest of his life.

"I know this sounds kind of narcissistic and morbid and what not, but at least I survived. I mean, if I had died, he would actually have no reason to live. There would be no trace of my mum left." They chuckled dryly, both at the seeming ridiculousness of the statement and the sheer truth of it.

"Do.. do you reckon that's even possible though? Loving a person for that long without any hope of being together at all?" Hermione's face turned pink as she asked the question, determined not to look at either of them, least of all Ron. Instead, she seemed to have found the bedsheet an extremely interesting object to observe.

Awkward silence permeated in the room as all three of them contemplated this, and at last, Hermione dared a lift of her head and saw that Ron was looking at her intensely, whilst Harry was standing beside the window, gazing out. "Yeah, I guess so," came Harry's voice. She knew who he was thinking of and knew that he really did believe so.

Meeting Ron's eyes, she saw his face turning into the same shade as his hair, and knew that her own was not far from it. The memory of their kiss suddenly flew back into her mind. In that moment of devastation, the kiss had felt like a safe haven. Everything around them had blurred and there was only the two of them. His lips on hers, taking as much as he was giving. She knew that Ron was not exactly the most sensitive of guys; and at that moment, his consideration for her passions had touched her. The red on her cheeks deepened – if that was ever possible – as she remembered the way she had lost control over her own impulses. Ron, it seemed, was reliving the same moment as she, and he too turned a shade redder.

"Oi Ron. Mum said that if you don't take care of the ghoul soon, you'll never see the dawn again," Ginny's voice sounded at the door, where she stood, observing the three of them. Hermione, broke her eye contact with Ron, embarrassed by the colour of her face, busied herself with sorting out the parchments. She stole a look at Harry, who had turned around and looked as though a bludger had hit him in the stomach. Ginny seemed to have noticed as well, for her face turned very red and she quickly left the room.

"Mate, you look like you just ate a fat lot of Puking Pastilles," Ron's voice broke the silence. Hermione punched his arm at this, which resulted in an indignant yelp from Ron. Harry sat back down on the bed and pulled out his lot of parchments. Hermione smiled when she heard Harry mutter under his breath, "Bloody Weasleys."

"So, as I was saying – about twenty minutes ago – the guest list. As for the attendance of these guests… well, no one, except for the Order, actually knows about the truth. So I was thinking that we could approach the Daily Prophet and The Quibbler and tell them the truth," said Hermione, looking at the list in front of her.

"Oh Merlin, no. There is no way in hell I'm going to talk to Skeeter again," Harry replied immediately, horrified at the prospect of having to talk to the very person who described him to be a moody, sensitive, two-years-younger-than-he-actually-was boy.

"But Hermione's right… if we don't tell everyone, they'd just think that Snape was an ugly, greasy Death Eater." Hermione smiled at Ron's support, though she knew that he wanted to placate her more than actually believing her words.

"Unless we demand the Daily Prophet for another writer. I mean, Skeeter can barely feel rejected, can she? Her skin's as thick as Grawp's," said Hermione with disgust. Both Harry and Ron threw her approving smiles, wonderfully glad that poisonous words could come out of her mouth as well.

"Well, I guess we could manage that. Xenophilius would be easy enough. He loves us. As for the Prophet, like you said, we'll just demand for someone else," said Harry.

"Yeah, I mean, we're practically _heroes_ now, aren't we? Defeating Voldemort and all? Surely, the Prophet could spare us another writer." a smug smile curved Ron's lips as he emphasised the word _heroes._ Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Well, I was thinking that we could just accept one of the million interview invitations we get from the Daily Prophet everyday and instead of talking about ourselves, we'll just talk about Snape. I mean, a bit of trickery goes a long way."

"Hermione, that's brilliant! That's exactly what we'll do. And we'll take care to _not_ reply to the ones with Skeeter's name on it," Harry exclaimed, now hopeful of the prospect of revealing the story of Snape. Hermione, upon mutual agreement to this, crossed out the other options on her list. Then, she moved the parchment to the bottom of the pile, revealing the guest list.

"Well, for the guest list, I guess Draco has to be invited," Hermione's voice was reduced to a quiet mumble, for she knew the mention of Malfoy's name would provoke the other two. And she was right.

"Malfoy?" both of the boys turned on her, fuming.

"Hermione, have you lost that brilliant head of yours? Malfoy tried to kill Dumbledore! He hurt Katie and he almost killed Ron!"

"Me, Hermione! He almost killed me! And Dumbledore! Does that mean nothing to you?"

"Do you honestly think that we should not include Draco, who was Snape's favourite student, in his funeral guest list? Draco adored him – no, worshipped him! And Snape, as we all know - though unpleasantly - , favoured Draco above any other student! We all knew that Draco was just following orders out of fear with all those incidents; even you, Harry, said that he had lowered his wand at the Tower!" snapped Hermione, who was determined to make them see the inevitability of it.

"Still! Don't you think it's just a bit too much of a stretch to invite a _Death Eater_ to the bloody funeral?" cried Ron, resolved against giving up.

"The Malfoys have gone to the Ministry the day after the Battle and turned themselves in. Lucius Malfoy is in Azkaban now on full terms, and Draco's condemned to service at St Mungo's everyday for two years. He's going to feel dreadful having to try to save those whom his father had intended to kill. Telling him to come to Snape's funeral will add to his guilt. And surely, a little bit more guilt would do him a lot of good?" Hermione knew she was right. The logic rang true. And she knew that Harry and Ron would relish the opportunity to see guilt on Malfoy's complexion, for it was so seldom evident on that pale face.

"Fine," said they in unison.

She knew she had won them when she saw hints of a snigger on their faces at the thought of making Malfoy guilty; she shook her head. Boys would always be boys.


	5. CeleFredtion I

**This one has taken quite a bit longer than the other chapters, mostly because it's so long! I've had to split this one into two chapters, just to make it a decent size. It's a lot longer than the other chapters, as you can see, but this one is where everything happens. Fred's funeral, the reunion between everyone, the question about the pairings. I've tried to stay true to George's character as much as possible but I'm not quite sure of how I'm doing. Any kind of feedback would be great. :)**

Friday came in a daunting speed, and before The Burrow knew it, Bill, Fleur and Charlie had arrived at its doors.

Embraces, hand-shakes and kisses were exchanged in a sense of hope and despair. Mr Weasley exchanged looks with each of the Weasley children, and all of them knew at once to crowd around their mother, offering comfort and warmth. Mrs Weasley was a chaotic heap. Her hair looked as though she had not brushed it for a month, her apron was worn crookedly and her cheeks bore the obvious stains of tears. Looking around, the tears crowded her eyes once again as she gazed at the faces of all her children: the scars and determined look on Bill's face, the equally numerous scars on Charlie's face and his lopsided grin, the stern but caring eyes of Percy, the downcast but significantly brighter eyes of George, Ron's unruly hair and slightly red eyes, and Ginny's grievous smile. The mass of red hair filled her vision and she knew that she had to count her blessings. Her family, though scarred, remained whole. Others, like Teddy Lupin, had lost his family before he was even aware of it. Yes, she knew to count her blessings.

Harry and Hermione stood at the side of the kitchen, watching the Weasleys. A pang struck Hermione's heart, as the absence of the warmth of her parents began to eat away at her. She wanted, at that very moment, to apparate in front of their doors, repair their memory and dive in their arms. She missed the soft vanilla scent of her mother's hair, the tangy smell of her father's aftershave and the comfort of their embrace. She missed the way her mother would caress her hair as though it were silk and the way her father always breathe his smile into her hair. She missed counting the wrinkles on her mother's hands and the white hairs on her father's head. She missed knocking on their door at night and wedging herself in between her parents when she had a particularly frightening nightmare. She missed linking their arms as they took afternoon walks in Muggle parks. She missed it all; she missed them.

As if sensing her misery, Harry held her hand and gave it a squeeze. He smiled at her when she turned to look at him, knowing that warmth was what she needed. The warmth of a friend could never compare to her parents', but it helped considerably. She noticed a faint sadness in his green eyes when he smiled at her, and it struck her that while she had parents to miss, he did not. Before she could offer her comfort, however, Mr Weasley had come up to them and included them in the Weasley family's embrace. At that moment, though she missed her parents sorely and he longed for parents to miss, they felt a sense of contentment as they became part of the Weasley magic.

It had been five days since Harry, Hermione and Ron had decided on inviting Draco Malfoy to Snape's funeral. Harry and Ginny still remained silent to each other, save moments where it was absolutely necessary to communicate. Ron and Hermione, too, shared no more awkward and blushing moments. The ghoul had been turned into a mockingbird by Hermione (with Ron's overwhelming pleading and gratitude), whose songs now fill The Burrow with a strange mix of sadness and hope. Harry slept in Charlie's old bedroom while Hermione slept in Bill's old bedroom. Not surprisingly, Bill's bedroom was now filled with books and extremely tidy, unlike its former self.

However, with The Burrow filled with its former inhabitants, the sleeping arrangements were altered. Hermione now shared a room with Ginny and Harry with Ron. That night, Hermione and Ginny each received an invitation to Fred's funeral, slipped under the bedroom door. It was from George. He had convinced his mother to let him take care of the funeral proceedings, as well as the invitations. Though reluctant and sceptical of George's ability to get everything done by Friday and Saturday, Mrs Weasley agreed, most probably because she knew that it was the last thing she could do to help George find closure.

Hermione opened her invitation, which was enveloped in purple and written on magically coloured parchment. The colour changed by the colours of the rainbow every minute. _Odd, _she thought, _this _is_ a funeral invitation, right?_ Ginny seemed to be sharing the same thoughts; though she had long accepted the eccentric character of her brothers. The parchment read:

_Dearest Brilliant-headed Hermione, _

_You are most warmly invited to the celebration of Fred Weasley's short yet action-filled life. You have provided knowledge and scolding to Fred (and myself, I must add) in times of dire need, such as exams, exams and exams. _

_Before you begin to retrieve that horridly dull and boring black robe of yours from the depths of your trunk (though, I dare say it would be at the very front of a certain spectacle-wearing Weasley's wardrobe) I must implore you to cease the torment. Instead, retrieve that beautiful dress robe of yours (yes, the one you wore to the Yule Ball and successfully made Ronald Weasley look like he was about to jinx, fail to jinx and vomit slugs into dear Viktor's face) and wear it to the celebration. _

_Of course, you have a list of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products to consider before you attend the funeral tomorrow: _

_Anti Gravity Hats  
><em>_Aviatomobile  
><em>_Headless Hats  
><em>_Punching telescopes (though I guess your personal experience with these would be a slight deterrent)  
><em>_An assortment of quills  
><em>_Trick wands  
><em>_An assortment of Muggle magic tricks and pranks_

_Choose wisely. _

_Lots of cunning love, _

_Holey George _

"Oh, I can't help imagining mum's face when she sees this!" exclaimed Ginny in delight, an expression that had not been seen on her face for a long time. Hermione chuckled. Surely enough, a door violently opened on the second floor and Hermione heard a bellow: "GEORGE WEASLEY! I TRUSTED YOU WITH ORGANISING THIS! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? WE INVITED PROFESSORS AND MINISTRY OFFICIALS! WHAT WILL THEY THINK WHEN THEY SEE THIS?" Yep, she could definitely imagine Mrs Weasley's expression. It seemed that The Burrow had finally regained some of its former vigour.

* * *

><p>"George said not to go out to the marquee until ten," mumbled Ron as he gulped away at his breakfast, determined not to look again at Hermione. She had transformed into her Yule-Ball self, but even prettier as she was now showing every sign of a full, grown woman. The sleeves of her blue robe fluttered slightly as she walked across the kitchen and into her seat, as though she were floating mid-air. Harry chuckled slightly as he saw Ron's jaw fall and eyes widen, choking on his milk. Thinking that no one had caught him, Ron had quickly buried himself in his breakfast. Seated, Hermione smiled at Ron and Harry, slightly unsure of how she looked, obviously unaware that she really looked quite beautiful. But the second that Ginny stepped into the kitchen, Harry had no space in his mind for anyone else.<p>

Hermione knew that it was wrong yet right, in some strange way, to feel this way. She felt elated, now dressed in the blue robe and silky hair that had attracted loathsome stares from girls back in Yule Ball. Perhaps George was once again working his magic, transforming her in a day that was supposed to be filled with grief. She felt light, as though some sort of a weight had been lifted off her chest.

Ron was wearing a new dress robe, black lined with midnight blue. She felt her cheeks warm when she realised she was blatantly staring at him and quickly diverted her eyes. Harry was sitting – well, staring – slightly agape in Ginny's direction and Hermione knew instantly the reason when she turned to look at her. She had always the reputation of being very pretty, Ginny, but now she looked truly amazing. Her hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders, dancing about the cream-coloured robe that contrasted the red of her hair. Her brown eyes were alive, unlike their state of emptiness and sorrow for the past few weeks. In short, Harry's reaction reflected exactly how beautiful she was. Hermione chuckled at this, and began her breakfast.

* * *

><p><em>Welcome to Cele-Fred-tion! Say the name of the product you have chosen and tap your wand on your nose.<em>

Ron stared at the writing floating in front of him, just before the opening of marquee, said "Aviatomobiles" before tapping his nose with a wand. He watched in horror as a daisy grew from the tip of his nose, only to find the writing now changed:

_Gotcha._

Snarling, he frantically grabbed at the words, as if it were the antidote to the dangerously large flower on the tip of his nose. An aviatomobile appeared into his arms, its size no larger than a child. Hermione stopped withholding a chuckle, and with a barely contained smile, tapped her wand on Ron's nose and watched the daisy float into the air. Growling, Ron rubbed his nose as he watched Hermione request for trick wands in elegance and without any sort of object growing out of her skin.

Once inside, Harry, Ron and Hermione could not help but stare and smile. The old energy of the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was in every way visible inside the marquee, and they could not help but turn their heads in surprise when they heard a familiar voice hovering above their heads.

Peeves floated around the marquee, chanting "Weasley is our King!" while directing a horrible-sounding orchestra. The floating orchestra, much to Hermione's surprise, consisted of gnomes dressed in oddly looking miniature robes and hands glued to their instruments. All three of them laughed as the ridiculous image of Peeves directing a gnome orchestra presented itself in front of them. They laughed as they had not for a long time.

"George! How'd you get the gnomes up there? And so many of them!" laughed Ron, asking when George appeared from the crowd. With a mischievous smile he answered,

"My dear brother, I'd hardly waste my time talking to gnomes unless I could get them to do something for me."

"That's interesting, seeing the gnomes did not seem so willing when you confounded them and glued them to instruments," came Ginny's jeer, her eyes all laughter. George looked indignant as he hissed at her:

"I knew I would regret it when I decided against the Unbreakable Vow…"

Ginny shrugged. "Well, sooner or later – the former being the more probable – people are going to notice that ugly, resentful expression written across their faces." A sly smile appearing on his lips, George put his around his little sister.

"Ginny, Ginny, Ginny. No one, I assure you, no one, will even be looking up once I get this party started." With that, and a flick on Ginny's nose, George disappeared into the crowd once more.

Now it was the four of them. Hermione nervously looked backwards and forwards at Ginny and Harry, fully aware of the tension in the air. Ginny broke the silence first: "Hi Harry." She even managed a warm, genuine smile. Harry opened his mouth, looking as though he wanted to say something; but nothing came out. Hermione, sensing the difficulty Harry was experiencing, pulled Ron away with her, knowing that two pairs of staring eyes were the last thing Harry needed.

For the first time in one week, Ron and Hermione were alone. Ron seemed to notice this, as he became slightly fidgety. Hermione, too, was quite anxious, uncertain what this solitude with Ron would lead to. After a few moments, she decided to break the silence and saw that Ron, too, had spun around, about to say something. At this moment, George reappeared from the crowd, floating mid-air, side-sitting on a broomstick, one leg over the other.

"Dear wizards and witches, welcome to Fred's celebration party. Now, before I let you all go bonkers with our products, I'd like to establish some ground rules. Firstly, if I catch anyone saying the word "funeral" today, I swear in Merlin's name that a Puking Pastille will be shoved down your throat. Secondly, if you catch a floating gnome, well, do what you usually do with gnomes. Thirdly, you must put your Weasley product to good use today. Lastly, watch out for dear Peeves.

"I know that all of you must be expecting some sort of a tear-wrenching, noble speech from Fred's twin (that's me, by the way, for those daft ones who have not realised). Well, I'm afraid you're not getting one, because during Fred's life, he neither caused tears and nor was he particularly honourable. He, in short, was my brilliant partner in crime. And Merlin, did Hogwarts become our stage. He always had a cunning eye for genius hexes, although I must say I had the upper hand in executing them." At this, George gave them mischievous grin, though Hermione thought she saw a glint of tear in his eyes.

"Fred liked to call himself the Merlin of Beaters, even presented himself with an Order of Merlin, First Class, for his contributions towards the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Of course, in no time, dear, wonderful Katie here changed it to the Order of Muddy, which I personally thought makes her deserving of an Order of Merlin.

"Many of you have questioned me about this wonderful way of… of sending away Fred," George coughed, and for a minute he did not recover from this fit. Tears crowded Hermione's eyes as she watched George, knowing that he did not want to reveal to everyone the truth behind his cough – but Hermione, too often the master of tears, knew that he was trying to fight the lump in his throat. She looked around the room, and saw that tears were rolling down many cheeks, but smiles plastered onto every face.

George, after a minute, cleared his throat and resumed, "The truth is, Freddie would have wanted it. If I had allowed anyone else to run this like a dull, depressing ceremony, I know that he would hex me like there's no tomorrow once I step into the other world when it's my time to go. So, without further ado, drink up your butterbeers! – but for the little ones, there's always pumpkin juice."

As George and his broom descended, he waved his wand and the gnomes, begrudgingly, each threw the Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-Bangs into the air. Fireworks followed, and the entire room was glittering in an assortment of bright colours. With another wave of his wand, pictures of Fred appeared and floated around the room. Pictures of the twins when they were just born, of Fred receiving his first toy broom and George hitting his head with it, of the twins with their Hogwarts letters, of the twins in their uniform on Platform Nine-and-three-quarters, of Fred and George's wizard chess battles, of their first Zonko's trip, of the opening of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and numerous others that featured George, Harry, Hermione, Angelina and the rest of the Weasley family.

"Fred always told me that the day he and George were born, Voldemort stopped his killings to honour their birth," Ron chuckled and choked on his tears as he showed Hermione the picture of the twin's birth. They walked through the marquee, looking at every photo that floated mid-air, occasionally ducking when Peeves flew past. By the time they got through half the photos, Harry and Ginny appeared beside them, hand in hand. The two blushed when Hermione threw them a jubilant smile and Ron threw them a growl. Together, the four looked through the photos that defined Fred Weasley's life, all the while Ron and Ginny gave commentaries and further explanations on the subject of the photos.

"Harry! Ron! Hermione! Ginny!" came a shout from behind. All four of them turned around, only to find Neville and Luna, the other two of the six friends who led Dumbledore's Army, fought at the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, again at the Astronomy Tower, revived DA and fought together to destroy Voldemort. All six smiled at each other, grateful for the fact that they were still alive, still here. Together, they walked around the marquee, watching as Fred Weasley's life played before them in a series of pictures, celebrating the life of the master of humour and pranks.

In a bout of mischief, Ron, Harry and Neville began to play with their aviatomobiles and flew around the marquee. Shaking her head, Ginny led Hermione and Luna to a table. "Are you and Harry back together now, Ginny?" asked Luna in her characteristically dreamy voice. With a blush, Ginny replied in the affirmative.

"That's wonderful, I always thought you two should have gotten together," said Luna, her line of vision swimming around the marquee.

"What about you, Luna? Surely, someone has to have fallen for your beautiful strangeness," teased Ginny, a twinkle in her eyes. With a smile, Luna directed her eyes at Ginny, the dreaminess still there, but now with an additional hint of happiness.

"Yes, Neville has asked me to be his girlfriend."

**I do feel obliged to add this little A/N at the end. I didn't want to spoil the surprise before the chapter so I didn't mention it, but I've tried really hard to capture Luna's character. I honestly don't know how I'm doing, so feedback would be great! The next chapter is currently still in progress, but I'll post it up as soon as I finish it. Thank you for everyone who's reading and following my story; I can't begin to describe my joy and gratitude! :)**


	6. CeleFredtion II

**And here it is! The second part of Fred's funeral. This was a big scene in the story for me, because Ron and Hermione are going to sort out exactly what to do with their relationship. I really enjoyed writing it; so I hope you'll enjoy reading it! Warning: lots of fluff! **

Hermione choked on her butterbeer while Ginny stared agape at Luna. "Luna! You're joking! You're.. wow, congratulations!" managed Hermione, still coughing.

"Well, I haven't said yes yet, but thank you for the congratulations."

"Luna Lovegood! How dare you not tell me about that!" Ginny was indignant.

"Well, I have now, have I not?" The response from Luna was less than satisfactory for Ginny, but she knew better than to reason with Luna's logic. Instead of retorting, she half-stood from her seat and fiercely embraced her friend, a smile brightening her complexion.

"Are you going to say yes, Luna?" asked Hermione, now recovered from her coughing. Ginny returned to her seat and stared intently, waiting for an answer.

"I hardly know. Neville's wonderful, and he's been a very kind person to me. I haven't really put much thought into it, you know, since it's the Nargle season now. I was so busy trying to hide my things away, I didn't really have time to think about it…"

"Luna. Luna! You're going to have to give him a reply sooner or later, you know that. Do you like him?" interrupted Ginny, knowing that talk of Nargle would continue unless someone stopped it. Luna seemed to be woken from a dream and stared at Ginny and Hermione in wonder.

"It would be nice, I think, to have dinners and lunches and strolls with Neville. Does that count?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Ginny and Hermione in unison.

"Then, I guess yes is my answer."

After considerable amounts of squealing, Hermione and Ginny summoned Neville from the dreadful aviatomobile game. Placing Luna in front of him, Hermione and Ginny left, leaving a scarlet Neville looking nervous and embarrassed. "And who would've thought!" exclaimed Ginny, still reeling from the revelation. Hermione chuckled in reply, as they seated themselves on the chairs once again. She looked at Ron, who was still playing chase with Harry on the aviatomobiles, her mind still on the latest pairing of her friends. It was her and Ron now. She knew that at last the talk with Ron could not be put off. She had to face it, the embarrassment, the awkwardness, the uncertainty.

"Hermione, what about you? And Ron?" asked Ginny quietly, yet Hermione did not have trouble hearing her above the noise around them. Of all the choices she had had to make – and her share of decision-making was incomparable to any other person of her age – this was the hardest. He was her best friend, and to enter into something beyond that close friendship bore risks. If it didn't work out in the end, she would face losing her best friend, and perhaps estranging her two best friends. But on the other hand, she knew that if she did not carry through with this, not only would she regret it, she'd also have to endure the awkwardness between herself and Ron. She knew that if she didn't accept and embrace what was between her and Ron, he would have difficulty trying to be her friend in the same way again. Perhaps she had already made her choice that day she lost control and kissed him. Perhaps there was really no going back.

"I… I don't…"

"Hermione, you two have been going on for years. You can't possible rein it back now!"

"But what if I have to? What if it all turns out wrong in the end? I can't lose him. He's my best friend! I mean, I like him and all; but if anything goes wrong, I won't ever forgive myself."

"Hermione, you haven't seen him look at you, have you? Well, of course not, for all his daftness, he manages to hide that quite well. Hermione, you have to talk to him. This isn't something you can just decide on your own. You've got to talk to him."

"Oh Ginny, I don't know… I'm not really sure…"

"Harry! I'm hungry, let's get some food." With that and a wink, Ginny left Hermione with Ron, who had now descended from his aviatomobile.

Hermione watched as Ron seated himself beside her and gulped down her butterbeer. She knew she was fidgeting, but she was beyond caring now. Right now, all she could think of was how to open the conversation. Before she could start, however, Ron spoke.

"I'm nervous too."

"W-What ?"

"About this. I mean, it's all kind of mind-blowing, isn't it? Here I am, sitting in Fred's (he looked about for George before he continued) funeral, deciding how to talk to you. Blimey, Hermione. You! You, who's been my best friend for a million years. You, who I have bickered and argued with for all my lifetime. You," at this, his voice lowered, "who kissed me with every bit of yourself in the thought that we wouldn't live to see another dawn." She had to admit it; this was definitely _not_ what she had in mind with which to start the conversation, nor could she put it more eloquently. She didn't know what to say or how to respond. She did know, however, that she wanted to have this conversation outside, where they could be alone and not overheard. "Let's go outside, I need some fresh air."

Outside, a soft summer breeze waltzed about them, for which Hermione was grateful, as she could now think clearer. She sat him down on the grass beside a gum tree before sitting down as well, mentally preparing what to say. Before she could get the words out, however, they heard two approaching voices.

"George, I really am alright. I mean, I'm obviously not _alright_ alright, but I'll pull through. So, don't you worry about me." It was Angelina's voice, sounding like she had a cold, but otherwise steady. Hermione remembered that Fred had talked about going on dates with Angelina once, but she couldn't remember whether that was in her fifth or sixth year.

"Ange, what I wanted to ask you was: do you want to come to the Wheezes and work with me? Now that Fred's… gone, I need an extra pair of hands."

"Oh. Umm, sure, I don't see why not. I haven't an idea what I want to do with my life yet, so yeah, working at the Wheezes would be cool. And," her voice reduced to a mumble, "it's probably the least I could do for Freddie." A moment of silence ensued, and Hermione guessed that they were both thinking about what the loss of Fred meant to both of them. After a short while, though, George replied, though Hermione could tell that it was with feigned calm,

"Okay. That's settled then. Let's go back inside; I'm craving firewhisky."

When George and Angelina walked away, the silence became unbearable. Hermione knew she had to say something, anything at all, to break this awkwardness.

"Ron…"

"Hmm?"

"You had dirt on your nose when I first met you."

"Haha. Okay… that was just a tad random, Hermione."

"You were performing the most non-magical spell I've ever heard. You teased me about not having friends but then saved me from a troll. You and Harry talked to me when everyone else thought I was the insufferable know-it-all. You relied on me for all your tests, but I relied on you for strength. You and I, we share this friendship that's so powerful I'm continuously taken aback by it. I don't want to lose this."

"I don't want to lose it either… but I'm not exactly following what you're trying to say here, Hermione."

"I've just been so… uncertain and confused. I so, so desperately want to continue what I started with that kiss, but at the same time I'm so afraid that I might lose you because of it." She had said it. Now, she stopped and waited for his response.

"What do you mean, lose me? Why would you ever lose me?"

"Ron, don't you see? If this, between us, doesn't end up well, then we might find it awkward to speak to each other again. And I don't want that!"

"Hermione! Aren't you just going a bit ahead of yourself here? I… Are you honestly going to say no to what's between us, just because of that?"

"No, I…"

"Hermione, I'd fight Voldemort – no, _three_ Voldemorts – just so I could have a chance to know what it feels like to take your hand in mine, to hold you in my arms, to… to feel your lips on mine again." She was speechless. She had no idea that his feelings ran that deeply. She suddenly remembered back to the day after the battle, when she had wondered whether this red-headed boy would love her like Snape loved Lily. It was still quite a stretch to imagine _that_ of Ron, but the thought re-entered her mind nonetheless.

"But Ron, someone has to think of the consequences. Of all the possibilities."

"I thought the War had taught us to make the most out of everyday. You _are_ the possibilities, Hermione. We've gone through so much, I would honestly tear the world down before anything stops me from taking your hand and moving forward with you."

He was becoming so much more persuasive than she had expected, and Merlin, it was hard to refuse him, when his blue eyes implored her like that. She knew, however, that she could not let her emotions take reign of her; she had to find out just how serious he was about this.

"Suppose that this doesn't end well, what then? Ron, look at Harry. He can barely look at Cho now. It's so awkward between them. I just can't bear to think that we might one day end up like that."

"Hermione, Harry barely put any effort into that relationship. Ours is one that I will fight to preserve. For a relationship to fall apart, the two are either too different or have simply grown out of each other. We are and will be neither of those. I _know_ you, better than anyone else in the world – save Harry – and you _know _me, better than anyone else in the world. I just…" The rest of sentence was drowned as Hermione reached over and kissed him.

Second time they'd kissed, and she'd initiated both of them. The thought made her want to chuckle, but it was becoming harder to think. She relaxed against him as he pulled her closer, his hands cupping her cheeks, deepening the kiss. She weaved her fingers into his hair, her attention concentrated singularly on the lips that were melting into hers. Once again, it was that feeling as though the world had blurred and there was nothing in the world but them two. It was as if someone had attached wings to her heart, the way it was beating about her chest, threatening to break free. This was right. It felt right. And there was nothing that would stop it. Both Ron and she would make sure of that.

After what felt like a century, yet all too soon, they broke apart. She was trying to regain her breath, and Ron watched her, intently. She whispered, "I couldn't have lived with myself if I'm giving up on what's between us. I was just so worried and confused before. I had forgotten just how much I want this. How much I want you. How much I _need_ us to happen."

"Hermione, it's alright. Everything's fi…"

"No," her voice raised, "Ron, you don't understand. It felt… It felt as though something gripped on my heart, trying to crush it. My own reason tried to suppress what my emotions cried out. I've never had to battle with myself like that… I was terrified." Knowing he had to choose his words carefully, he first put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in closer.

"Hermione, I've talked to Harry about it before. He was talking about Ginny – which, I admit, I felt quite weird about – and what would happen if it didn't work out. We spent hours talking about it. And in the end, all the consequences that he listed were nothing compared to his desire to be with her. Same goes for me. No reason nor potential consequences will stop me from wanting to be together with you, Hermione. I don't care about thinking of what _may be_ right now, but I don't want to move on in our lives and one day thinking of what _could have been_. I have heard before of the reasons you are afraid of; but I don't give a flying pixie's arse. You are what I want. So yes, I do understand, Hermione. I understand completely."

It was uncharacteristic of Hermione to be at a loss for words; but the red-headed boy, on whose shoulder she leaned, had pushed that boundary thrice today. Instead of futilely searching for words, she took his hand and weaved her fingers through them. It felt right and fitting, as though the entwined fingers symbolised the times that they had spent together laughing, crying, bickering. At that moment, no words needed to be said. They both understood.

Suddenly, a chuckle came from behind them. Turning around, Hermione saw George sitting on a park bench that he must have conjured, raising a mug of butterbeer to them. Scarlet, Ron grabbed Hermione's wand and hissed, "Silencio." Instead of rendering his brother mute, the wand shot bubbles from its tip. Ron turned to Hermione, perplexed. The answer came to an equally confused Hermione after a moment: "Ron, it's the trick wand." George burst out in laughter, and after a short while Ron and Hermione joined him. None of them seemed to be able to stop laughing as the wand continued to shoot out bubbles, illuminating the afternoon sky with a particular glitter.

Harry, Ginny, Neville, Luna and the rest of the Weasleys, upon hearing the laughter, came outside, only to see a rain of bubbles. Seeing their confusion about the laughter, Ron uttered a string of spells that produced no effect but more bubbles: "Silencio! Reparo! Lumos! Wingardium Leviosa! Muffliato!... Harry, it's a trick wand!" One by one, they all began to laugh, as though it was just another one of Fred and George's jokes.

**Please let me know what you think of how I finished this chapter. I personally really liked it, but reviews would be great! Thanks. ;) A little slip about the upcoming chapters: _they're planning Snape's funeral and talking to the Daily Prophet; but most of all, the trio will have to meet Draco for the first time after the Battle of Hogwarts. Will there be a delicate change in Draco's relationship with them, particularly Hermione?_ **

**Keep an eye out for updates!**


	7. Double Trickery

**Sorry this one took so long! I've had to study for exams so the writing had to come to a halt. I had so much fun writing this chapter, especially with the Hermione/Skeeter exchange. Siriusly, I'm so in love with Hermione! Okay, without any more ramblings, enjoy! Again, reviews would be very much appreciated. :)**

After the funeral, George returned to his usual self; pranks, his running footsteps and Mrs Weasley's bellows once again filled The Burrow. Harry, Hermione and Ron, however, became more and more anxious as the date of their interview with The Daily Prophet neared.

They'd gone through it over and over again: Harry was to start with telling the truth about Snape and the other two will follow in their confirmation and input about Snape's character, especially his contribution towards the Order. Then, they were going to suggest a list of people who the Prophet can approach to retrieve extra information, namely the members of the Order. It was a good plan, one that was revised countless times by Hermione's cold logic and yawned over by Ron. Nevertheless, they all became increasingly nervous as Thursday neared.

The time of the interview was at ten o'clock in the morning, and it was to be conducted in the Fortescue café. Harry and Hermione had both objected to holding the interview in The Burrow, fearing that the reporters would find reasons to conjure untrue stories using The Burrow as their stimulus material. Instead, they decided on Fortescue café, formerly Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, which was reopened by Mr Fortescue's niece, Flora Fortescue. Harry told Hermione that it reminded him of the first time he went to Diagon Alley. Hermione had smiled, silently revelling in the symbolism of it all.

Going back to where it all started.

Hermione remembered her first trip to Diagon Alley. Her parents had been terrified of yet captivated by the moving bricks and the crowd of pointy hats and swishing robes. She had visited the richly decorated and highly attractive ice cream parlour of Florean Fortescue's, and had pored over her first copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_, while holding an autumn-flavoured ice cream. She remembered asking Mr Fortescue what autumn-flavoured meant; he replied: "It's whatever autumn tastes like to you, lil' miss." She remembered how her parents threw the old man curious yet slightly perplexed glances, not quite sure whether to be fascinated or frightened by the old wizard.

For the past few days, it seemed as though every little memory would remind her of her parents. The socks that her mum made her for her first Hogwarts Christmas, the necklace that her father bought her for the Yule Ball, the beaded bag they bought her in the summer of her sixth year. Their absence haunted her, robbing her of a piece of herself everytime she was reminded of them. She desperately wanted to share with Harry and Ron her troubles, but she knew that when she did, she'd have to also tell them her fears about something going wrong with the memory alteration. She was nowhere near ready to say that out loud, because it was as if that idea would begin to exist as soon as she said it out loud. So, she decided to push those thoughts away, keep her thoughts silent and prepare for the upcoming interview.

* * *

><p>Before long, Thursday arrived. It was very early in the morning, before the sun decided to peek over the horizon. Hermione lay wide awake in her bed, not able to fall asleep again. Anxiety levels were escalating exponentially, and she decided to drink some warm milk to calm herself down. Now that she was back in Bill's room, she didn't have to worry about waking Ginny by walking across the bedroom floor.<p>

With a warm cup of milk in her hands, she stepped out into the grass, feeling cold, still air envelope her. Usually, the strange mixture of warm milk and cold air would help her regain her calm mind and logic, but not today. Today, faced with perhaps one of the most important interviews she would sit in her life, there seemed to be no remedy for her fluttering stomach.

"I think flying would do the trick," came Ron's voice, softly yet firmly, from behind her. She turned around and saw that he, too, was still in his pyjamas, obviously sleepless.

"Can't sleep, eh?" he asked. When she nodded, he continued, "Me too. Bloody hell, I wish we could just shove the memory at them and tell them to read it themselves... Yes yes, I know, they would misinterpret it either unintentionally or deliberately and then write a huge fancy emotional story about how greasy Snape the Underdog fell madly in love with Lily Evans, the beautifully talented witch, who was swept away by James Potter the Mischievous Great. Merlin's underpants, Hermione, you didn't have to give me that glare." She kicked him lightly on the foot, yet silently glad that he was finally fully back to his usual self. Truth was, sometimes she felt the same way too. It would have been so much easier if they'd just give the reporters the memory; but she knew that it was wrong. Snape had intended for Harry, and Harry alone, to see that memory; no one else should access the details of his memories without his consent. So all they could do was help circulate the truth to the wizarding community and hope to do justice to his sacrifices.

The troublesome thoughts began to plague her mind once more, making her fidgety. Ron, seemed to have notice this, for he took hold of her free hand and led her to the broomstick cupboard. He grabbed two brooms and held one in front of her, gesturing for her to take it. Violently shaking her head, Hermione backed a step, the milk in her hand threatening to spill. "Hermione, come on. You'll be safe. These brooms may be old, but they're reliable. It's the new ones that you have to watch out for throwing tantrums."

"Ron, you know I don't fly."

"Blimey Hermione, you have no idea how great it is! Once you're in the air, it feels… it feels like you're free. Free from everyone's expectations, free from shadows, free from the bloody world and its responsibilities. Come on, just give it a try."

"No."

"How about if you sit in front of me and we'll fly together? That way, if you panic, I can take over." Hermione looked hopeful at this idea, but still terrified.

"If I fall off the broom, I'll make you noseless like Voldemort." Ron laughed at this, put her milk on the ground and pulled her on to the broom, seating himself behind her.  
>"Fair enough."<p>

The first five minutes were sheer torture. She'd never been fond of heights, but now supported by nothing by a broomstick and forty feet above the ground, she was terrified. It felt as though all her insides had shrunk and were shaking, the way she felt her tummy muscles twitch. Ron was oblivious to her pain, thinking her scrunched up face merely a sign of nervousness. He was, of course, the one handling the broom; Hermione's attention was completely focused on staying alive. She secretly cursed as Ron threw cheers into the air, completely immersed in the ecstasy of flight. If she could, she would have pinched his arm; but she didn't dare lift her fingers from the broomstick.

At last, Ron seemed to realise that he was the only one enjoying the flight and he turned his attention to the shivering being in front of him. "Hermione, are you alright?"

"Ronald Weasley, do I look like I'm alright? We're fifty feet off the ground with nothing but a broomstick supporting us!" replied Hermione through gritted teeth.

"Oh loosen up! I told you, these old brooms are reliable. When Charlie, Bill and dad took the other three, Fred and George had to share this one and it never failed them." In the midst of her fear, Hermione noticed that this was the first time Ron had mentioned Fred's name without hesitation, wincing or a pause. Ron seemed to have noticed too, for he became silent. Wanting to break the silence, he removed his left hand from the broom and encircled Hermione's waist with it. Then, he placed his right hand over Hermione's hands, now white from gripping too tightly. "Deep breath, Hermione," he whispered beside her ear.

She felt a chill running over her that had nothing to do with the morning air. Taking a deep breath, she let herself fall back into Ron's chest. Her pounding heart calmed and she breathed a little easier; the height didn't seem so frightening now. Feeling a slight pressure on her hands, she felt Ron directing the broom with her hands, and she felt a stream of warmth coursing from her core, through her fingertips and on to the broom.

She was flying! For the first time in her life, she was actually controlling a broom. She had been so annoyed that she wasn't doing well in flying classes in first year that she dropped it as soon as possible. Now, she was flying. She felt the wind glide over her face, the strange sensation of changing altitudes and the pure joy derived from speed. "It's bloody brilliant, isn't it?" asked Ron. She nodded. She could only nod.

As the sun rose, they decided to return to the ground. Descending, Ron threw the broom aside and pulled at Hermione's hand, running towards the top of the small hill. They laughed with the wind, with the singing of the ghoul-turned-mockingbird, with the sunrise. Then, collapsing onto the grassy hill, their hands locked in each other's, they let the sun wash over them. Contentment welled within them, warming them in the core.

"It's nice like this, isn't it?" – without Voldemort, without fear, without Death Eaters, without death, without worry. Hermione left those words unsaid, because she knew that he understood. He said nothing, but turned his head and buried it in her hair. She felt him breathe his reply into her hair, smiling at the feel of his breath against her hair, her skin. She felt alive. In less than three hours, they were to tell the story of a dead hero to the world; but right now, she was part of a _living_ story. Submerged in a sea of gratitude, she squeezed his hand and turned her head to face him. The blue of his eyes seemed to pierce through her, quickening the beat of the mass inside her chest. They both smiled, no Horcrux to cloud the clarity of their feelings, no imminent death to render this an act of desperation. It was just pure contentment and happiness, and the gratitude that it was simply that.

When the morning dew began to seep into their clothes, they finally decided to rise from the ground and head back into the house. Once inside, they lost no time in noticing that Harry and Ginny sat in the living room, the latter's head resting on the former's shoulder and their fingers entwined. Hermione gave him a little pinch in the palm when Ron growled at the sight of his little sister and his best friend. Hearing this, Harry turned around and, together with Ginny, rose to see their friends. Asked whether he was alright, Ron merely mumbled, "Just hungry, 'is all."

Sensing the apprehension the three had for the looming interview, Ginny voluntarily stepped into the kitchen to make breakfast. After a quarter of an hour, Ginny stormed out of the kitchen with a heavy smell of burnt pancakes and snarled for Hermione to go into the kitchen with her. Suppressing a laugh, Hermione followed. Harry and Ron, on the other hand, were much more public with their amusement. When at last the pancakes were ready, it was already nine o'clock.

Hermione, thanks to the cooking, did not have time to fidget. Ron, on the other hand, displayed every sign of anxiety; Harry simply looked annoyed. Mrs Weasley, by this time, had already gotten out of bed; she was, however, refused entry into the kitchen by her daughter and was told to remain outside her usual territory until the pancakes were done. Despite Mrs Weasley's bellows and constant attempts to enter, Hermione's shield charm proved effective. Eventually, Hermione had had to cast a shield charm around Ginny as a precaution before they left the kitchen, for Mrs Weasley looked ready to curse. When it was sure that Mrs Weasley would not leave the kitchen any time soon, Hermione dropped the shield charm and joined the others for breakfast.

They revised their plan, and ran through again the list of details that should not be revealed to The Prophet, such as the specific events of conflict between James Potter and Snape. When these preparations were completed, they got dressed and disapparated to Diagon Alley.

* * *

><p>They apparated just beside the entrance that led from Leaky Cauldron. Fortescue Café was just up the hill, a few shops before Gringotts. Since they were quarter of an hour early, they decided to stroll on the busy street, reliving their childhoods. All the shops were up and running again: Madam Malkin's was decorated with beautiful travelling robes that waved to passers-by, Amanuensis Quills was still much too flamboyant in its choice of colours, Broomstix was once again showcasing the latest broom design (of which, only after Hermione's almost too violent pulls, did Harry and Ron take their eyes off), Eyelops Owl Emporium's display window was dominated by a beautiful brown owl, Flourish and Blotts was showcasing a new book about a witch's adventures when trapped in a dragon's nest, Ollivander's was reopened and the faded purple cushion once again occupied the front window, and most spectacular of all, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was open once again. The joke shop was, to the expectation of all three of them, filled with customers ranging from three-year-olds to 17-year-olds, and they could just discern the silhouettes of George and Angelina inside the shop. It was indeed an impressive feat, reopening within such a short time and returning it to its former glory.<p>

Though they itched to visit the joke shop they had once stayed in for an entire afternoon, the interview could not be avoided. Treading on, they were stopped by Harry just twenty feet from the café. "What's Skeeter doing going into the café?" hissed Harry, a look of horror on his face.

"Are you sure it was her, Harry? Maybe all the reporters liked to dress like her…" whispered Ron, as though talking too loudly would reveal their presence to Skeeter, who was already inside the café. Hermione rolled her eyes incredulously at Ron, and asserted her views.

"There is no way Skeeter is in that café at this time on this day for no reason. Harry, here, take this Galleon – it's our DA coin! Merlin, you can be really daft sometimes. Ron and I will go in first, and when it's time for you to enter, you'll feel the coin heat up. Oh and here's an Extendable Ear. It'll come in handy. Ron, let's go."

When they entered, all eyes turned around and focused on them. Few whispers were exchanged, confirming that these two really were Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. Ron seemed beside himself, never really having had this much attention concentrated on him and no one else – well, nearly. Ms Fortescue instantly greeted them and led them to their table – where Skeeter sat, her acid green Quick-Quotes Quill swishing its feather about her. Her three gold teeth shone as she threw them an exaggerated smile, and as she stood to observe the pair, Hermione thought she heard Ron make a gagging noise. "Why, if it isn't the hero and heroine of the Battle of Hogwarts, Mr Weasley and Miss Granger. Now, tell me; where is your friend? Surely, the trio does not break up after such a year of adventure? Hmm?" Her sickly sweet voice made Hermione almost nauseous; but she knew that she had to maintain the upper hand in this.

"It is certainly a delight, Miss Skeeter, to meet you again. Could I just ask for the reason for Mr Fermore's absence?" asked Hermione, determined not to answer Skeeter's questions until absolutely necessary. First, she must buy some time to figure out why Skeeter had the nerves to come back to interview them when it should be impossible for her to forget that Hermione knew her darkest secret. She could see Harry's Extendable Ear hanging dangerously close to Skeeter's chair, but was determined not to look that way, in case Skeeter followed her line of vision. Skeeter's smile widened, if that was at all possible, before she replied:

"Dear Barry was sick today, Miss Granger; that's why I am here instead of him." None of them believed her words, but they simply accepted it. Hermione raised her eyebrows – it was useless trying to be civil about her facial expressions.

"So I'm assuming that your quill and you will be interviewing us today?"

"Of course, Miss Granger; and we are delightfully willing to do so," replied Skeeter, the dangerous sweetness still syruping her voice. Hermione itched to take a look at Ron to see just how deep in despair he was, she restrained herself. Instead, she subtly reached into her beaded bag and rummaged around for a little bottle, whilst saying to Skeeter: "Very well then; looks like we have no choice but to oblige." Found it. She gripped the bottle in her left hand, whilst her right twisted the cork free. Now, to notify Harry. Touching the Galleon in her pocket, she felt it heat up and instantly, the door to the café opened to Harry Potter.

Every eye in the café turned to stare at the Chosen One, as he stood at the door, including Skeeter, who looked ecstatic at the view of Harry. She hastened towards to the door to usher Harry in herself, and Hermione, using this moment of disorder, emptied the little bottle of clear liquid in her hand into Skeeter's drink. She knew that three drops should be enough, but against Skeeter, she had to take precautions. When Skeeter returned to the table with a disgruntled Harry, Hermione had resumed her seat, looking expectantly at the former. Sitting down, Skeeter took a sip of her drink whilst readying her quill to begin her interview. Not knowing if that was enough of a dose to make the potion work, Hermione muttered a spell under the table, with her wand directed at Skeeter. "Merlin, I'm dreadfully thirsty today." At this, Skeeter downed the whole cup.

Hermione waited. She waited for signs of any change in Skeeter's countenance, in order to begin her own questioning. This was surely not allowed, but she had to find out. Her silence and resolute look perplexed Harry and Ron, who were staring at her in curiosity. Hermione ignored them, and continued to observe Skeeter carefully. After about ten seconds, Skeeter's smile faded, replaced by an empty look. Knowing that this was the moment, Hermione muttered "Muffliato". To Harry and Ron's inquiring looks, she answered: "Veritaserum. Now, before you two judge me, I just want to say that I'm doing this for a perfectly legit…"

"Hermione, you're a bloody genius," interrupted Harry, who now looked at Hermione with awe and wonder. Ron wore the exact same expression on his face. She blushed at this, and turned back to Skeeter. "Ready?"  
>"Never been more ready than now," was the reply from the other two.<p>

"Rita Skeeter, what is your animagus form?"

"A beetle." Skeeter's voice was monotonous, without any intonation.

"Why have you come today to interview us?"

"A story of the Trio on the Second Wizarding War would earn me a great promotion, perhaps even become editor of The Prophet."

"What I meant was, why have you the nerve to come interview us, when you know that I can just threaten to reveal that you're an Animagus and force you to write the truth, unlike your usual practice?"

"I confessed to my editor a year ago, telling him that I'm an Animagus. Collins said he would protect my job, as long as I keep writing good, selling stories. He went to speak to the Minister of Communication and Media about it and somehow convinced the Minister to keep me unregistered and unpunished. So even if you try to reveal my Animagus status, the Minister herself would block the news."

Here it was. The truth of her presence here today instead of Fermore; though the dimensions of this story was deeper than Hermione had imagined. The Minister of Communication and Media covering for her! She knew that she had gotten all the information she needed, so she handed the antidote to Skeeter, who, thinking that it was water, downed it in one go. A smirk was present on all of their faces as they watched Skeeter came back to awareness. "Ms Skeeter, I believe that you now are absolutely obliged to write your article _exactly_ as we have answered, rather than your own variation."

At this, Skeeter hissed: "How dare you, you little minx! The use of veritaserum is forbidden unless you are authorised!"

"Dear Ms Skeeter, I believe that you, yourself, are an active user of this potion. So, you do not stand any ground in criticising me. Now, if you do not write as we say, then we have three different memories here that are presentable to the Minister of Magic. Yes, we do personally know Kingsley Shacklebolt. So I would be not be attempting any memory alterations if I were you. I have been called the brightest witch of my age by five different teachers, including Charms teacher, Professor Flitwick. So, if you attempt anything at all to disrupt this interview, I can swear on Merlin's name that you will not be spending the rest of your life in merriment," said Hermione in a dangerously calm voice, her eyes never leaving Skeeter's.

In an effort to preserve her own dignity, Skeeter straightened in her chair and, still wearing a murderous look, prepared to begin the interview.

"Oh and just thought I should mention, you'll not be interviewing about us. We're here to reveal the story of Severus Snape." Skeeter looked as though her eyes were going to shoot fire.


End file.
